Getting It In The End

Justin Wells slides into bed, convinced it's his boyfriend's familiar warmth enveloping him in the dim moonlight. But shadows play tricks tonight. The man beneath him—strong, insistent—grips his hips with a ferocity that bites, pulling him down hard onto a cock that's thicker, more demanding than he remembers. Justin gasps, arousal spiking through the haze of desire, his body arching as rough hands pin his wrists above his head. Thrusts come fast, unyielding, each one slamming deep, bruising his thighs where fingers dig in like claws. It's thrilling, this edge of savagery, a spark that sets his nerves alight and makes his own erection throb against sweat-slicked skin. Yet doubt creeps in, sharp as a whisper—why the unfamiliar growl in that breath against his neck? Why the way this lover bites his shoulder, not with affection but possession? Justin's pulse races, torn between surrender and the nagging suspicion that something's profoundly, deliciously wrong.